An Unlikely Crime Lord
by Tengumaster89
Summary: Truz, a Rodian, comes to Coruscant in search of fame and fortune as a bounty hunter or mercenary. He finds there things he wasn'e expecting.
1. Chapter 1

Truz looked down on his hands. The small suction cups at the end of each finger tapped on his knees frantically. It was one of those things he often thought about, but a moment later realized he didn't want to think about. His shoulders were pushed in by larger Rodians to each of his sides. The steel bench of the shuttle was colder than he expected it to be, and the ride was as turbulent as riding a speeder bike. He just wanted to lose thought for a moment, or fall asleep, and then in a moment be on Coruscant.

But it wasn't working. He had become to observant of the surroundings to forget them all together. The two, long rows of Rodians on the shuttle faced eachother like a military dropship. The ship was packed with travelers, and Truz could tell by the look of them that they were all mercenaries or smugglers. Despite is desire to be one of them, and in time have the same bulky frame and prominent scars, like battle trophies, Truz felt quite intimidated in this moment.

He was afraid to turn and look at those in his row, as he would not want to risk starting a brawl in the middle of a very long shuttle flight. So he slowly skimmed down the opposite row, seeing the lined thugs all as possible visions of himself in the future. The row displayed the full biological range of Rodians, skin from turquoise to olive to emerald. Each had their wounds of battle, some even with eye patches. They all held some form of weapon, mostly rifles with countless strange alterations and customizations. One of the ones across from him had a force pike and a vibroblade.

Truz didn't bring much. He had a blaster, but it had 3 shots in the energy cartridge and he wanted to save them for life risking moments. He had a bag of belongings; filled with a journal and some rations, letters from home and a book on learning common. He hoped he could get more stuff once he got to Coruscant. He sold mot of his things to get the credits to fly there and to secure a place to live. He had no clue someone could live on Coruscant for a hundred credits a month, it just didn't make sense. It was cheaper than most housing on Rodia.

Luckily for Truz, finally that moment of security came and e fell into sleep. Rodian slumber was always awkward, their black, bulbous eyes staying exactly the same. But the simple nod of the head was enough for the other Rodians to know he was sleeping. They didn't care much about it.

He didn't dream on that flight. It was the first time that Truz could remember where he slept but did not dream. The first thing he missed about home already was dreaming up vivid fantasies about the future. Truz just imagined blackness for a few hours and woke up.

Truz was a bit bony, and tall for a Rodian. Most called him gangly. His skin tone was a dark forest green, like the majority of Rodians. He always admired the aqua and turquoise skin tones, but alas he was who he was. He was wearing clothes of a beggar, or farmer, or losing gladiator on Rodia, but as he would soon find, most people saw it as rags. His bag was a mere sack. His blaster was nothing special, the usual Blastech DL-18.

Finally, an abrupt clank and a juggling bounce of all the passengers came and those that were sleeping, like Truz, woke up. One by one, in no specific order, they started taking off their seatbelts and grabbing their weapons, forming a mass at the tail end of the shuttle. A large door, like the door of a hangar, opened from the bottom to the top like a garage. The width of the opening was the width of the shuttle, essentially, so the pace was large enough for the hardened thugs to leave without calamity. Truz was the last off the shuttle, naturally.

As he left the characteristically gray innards of the shuttle, Truz walked into the characteristically gray innards of the hangar. Most of the other docked ships were cargo ships. Truz was glad to see Rodians were well appreciated. His sack slung over his shoulder, he followed the trail of passengers, past two large doorways, until they formed a line. The line was long enough for Truz to not see where it lead, but he was too intimidated by the mercenary in front of him to ask. After half an hour had passed with little movement, under his breath Truz mumbled in Rodian "where are we going?" He was answered, to his dismay, by the thug in front of him who turned his shoulder with a jerk to face him, and then explained that they were in line for customs. As the mercenary turned back to face the line, Truz began to wonder how a Rodian could have such a deep, grizzly voice. None of Truz' friends had such a rugged tone, was he whiny?

After hours of senseless waiting, Truz was a sole figure in front of a desk which was operated by a rotund human, who hadn't shaved renently nor had he brushed his teeth in decades. Always cringed at the sight of most humans, they had a strange skin texture as if they were made out of mud or clay, and had hair, but not like Wookies, their hair was saved for only the most grotesque places. Such hideous creatures, but he knew he would be seeing a lot of them on Coruscant. He might as well start to get used to it.

"Okay bug eyes, name, date of birth, home system, housing arrangement, and citizenship status," the fleshy creature said, "and in basic, you speak basic, don'tcha?" Truz was too nervous and disgusted to reply. He just slid his informational papers across the desk and said "I speak basic."

After twenty minutes of seemingly unnecessary stamping, filing, and moving about, the flesh creature muttered "go ahead." As Truz passed the desk, he couldn't help but notice the sagging fat under the human's neck, and the little hairs sticking out of it. Truz itched his snout to keep himself from gagging.

He left the blockish hangar into a dark world, lit by neon lights, which often flashed and buzzed as the power was fading. The first thing he saw was a human, in a rag like his, being robbed by some Quarren thug. It kind of amused him, but mostly scared him. Then again, what did Truz have that someone would want to take?

He managed to scribble directions to his new housing before leaving home. The tiny scrap of material he ripped from his sack had the very location of his new home jotted on it in ink. He pulled aside the next person he saw, which happened to be a Trandoshan shopkeeper, and straightened the patch of fabric and put it in the shopkeeper's three-clawed hands. In a hissing tone of basic, the Trandoshan told him to step onto the next main street and go left until there was a deadend street to his right, and it was there.

Truz stepped onto the bustling main street ahead of him, and turned to his left. Before his head could pivot he was knocked onto the hard ground.

He looked up from the ground, only to find another body to his left also on the ground. The figure got up, it was a stalky Gand who pointed a blaster rifle at Truz and exclaimed "Watch it!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Gand lowered the weapon with short lived patience, and then continued running through the slowly walking mass of pedestrians on the street. Truz took his time getting up, rubbing the bulges on the back of his head with his hand. He was puzzled about the Gand, and he was puzzled as to why he was in such a hurry. But foremost, he was tired and hungry and would soon forget the incident.

He continued walking left, the crowd shifting about him. The brushing and closeness of the bodies around him made Truz feel awkward, it was nothing like Rodia. He flung his sack over his right shoulder again, and looked at the ground as he walked to avoid eye contact with the pedestrians.

Eventually, there was a turn street. And as Truz lifted his head to see the street, he noticed it was a dead end. He would have to get used to this sight, because it had become home. At the end of the street was a dark cylindrical building, perhaps twenty levels high, the dim blurry reflections of the many neon lights painted its sides. To its sides, lesser buildings stood, clad in their own neon advertisements and slogans.

After standing for a moment in observation, Truz began to slowly approach the dreadfully average edifice. His Rodian eyes couldn't properly portray the suspicion in his glancing observations. He stopped for a moment, removed his blaster from his sack, put it at his wait and returned his sack over his shoulder. He knew he only had three shots left, but he began to believe he might be using all three soon. He started to panic inside, but kept telling himself "I'm going to have to get used to this place."

He reached the door without being shot, maimed, mugged, or otherwise harmed. To Truz, it was a miracle. He entered the front door into a circular room. The elevator was in the center of the room, and around it, like a ring, were doors. The panels were a light blue sheen, however the corners where the walls met the ceiling or the floor were outlined with rust and crud. It was the beginning of the end for the aesthetic sense of the building.

There was nobody in the corridor, except for a hunched over Skrilling with a large cleaning device. He was stout, his skin a grayish blue tone. His many snouts were somewhat swollen, but this was common for Skrillings. His bald head and small, beady black eyes gave the illusion that he was anatomically spherical. Below the neck, this illusion was disproved by his stocky frame and bulky figure. He was wearing an aging olive colored suit with a sickly orange lining. The device he was carrying was a primitive scrubbing and polishing device, designed to be operated by a life form and not a droid. It was an archaic machine.

The apparatus was making a screaming mechanical noise, which was tearing into Truz' ears. When the Skrilling noticed Truz' presence, however, he turned the machine off and a calming silence fell onto Truz like a refreshing splash of water after a hunt on Rodia. The Skrilling asking in a bubbly, raspy voice "Traz, right?"

"Yes, I'm Truz. From Rodia, I am sorry I came late, you see I had to catch this shuttle and…"

"Fine, fine, Traz, whatever you say. You should talk to the boss. Go ahead and take the elevator up to the top floor. I'm sure he's prepared to have you. No worries"

Truz had met his new understanding of hospitality. It wasn't home yet, but he knew in time he would be able to appreciate such greetings. Truz approached the circular elevator, and before entering it, turned back for a moment, and looked back at the Skrilling. "Oh, and then who are you?"

"Pilt Tropskun," he said with a light grin. "Nice to meet you."

His tone and accent of basic made Truz' seem like another language. Perhaps the lingual bringger of unity of the galaxy wasn't such a great idea. It was audible, though, and he seemed to understand Truz fine.

Truz turned back and entered the elevator. It was a tight space, surely unable to carry more than three average sized bodies in it. The elevator was archaic, it could easily pass for twice the age of the building. On the side, lined in basic, were the numers of the floors with their corresponding buttons, one through eighteen. The button for the ninth floor has seemed to have fallen out, and been replaced by a protruding white peg. Truz hit the button for the eighteenth floor.

When he arrived, the elevator opened into a cluttered office with a desk in the center, covered with papers. Behind the desk was a Skakoan who seemed to be preoccupied with sorting his desk. His body was covered by a body pressure suit, to allow him to survive in this atmosphere. His eyes were covered by lenses, his body by chrome shells that seemed divide his body into a trapezoidal head, cubic body, and cone shaped leggings. The pressure suit seemed to be of poorer quality than those of the Skakoans who Truz had heard about that were part of the CIS. No, this skakoan was nearly as ornate but rather quite average.

The Skakoan turned a dial on his chest while emitting a squaling, high pitched sound. Truz cringed from the noise and stepped back a bit, holding his arms up as if they could block the noise. Shortly after the moment's screech, the figure asking in a deep, metallic tone "Is this tone alright?"

"Yes, yes it's fine," replied Truz. "You must be Ordo Ves. You're the one I spoke to on the communicator, right?"

"Indeed. In a gang?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you in a gang. It is a simple question that expects a simple answer, are you part of a gang?"

"Oh, no. Should I be?"

"No. Just making sure. I do not allow gang members in these apartments. Too much fuss, those gang members. Always making noise, making a mess, killing tenants. You know, there are gang wars going on in this neighborhood. Be warned, it isn't safe outside. It isn't even safe for my business"

"Oh, well, thank you, I suppose. So, do I pay you now? Or…"

"Yes, please. Put your credits down on that end of the desk. Your room is 903, down on the ninth floor. Here is your keycard."

Truz took the keycard and back into the elevator. He slowly pushed the broken, white pin with the suction cup at the end of his finger, and stepping back in apprehension. To his surprise, the makeshift replacement worked. The doors closed, and the elevator took him down onto the ninth floor.

As the doors opened, he noticed a hallway much like the one on the basement floor, however this one had not been scrubbed in a long while. The door directly in front of him read "901". He used intuition to move two doors down, to "903". Inserting his keycard, the door opened and Truz waited in anticipation to see his new home.

There it was. An empty space, boldly lined with a scorched brown mold. The light was dim, and there was a leak in the corner of the ceiling, dripping down making a trail of dirty water from the corner to the door. And that was it. In disappointment, Truz turned around and planned to walk outside until he was so tired he actually wanted to sleep on the cold ground of his tiny apartment.

As he turned back he knocked into a Quarren who had just walked out of his apartment. The Quarren pulled out his blaster, exclaiming "Watch where you walk, bug face!"

Déjà vu.


	3. Chapter 3

Truz immediately threw his arms up vertically into the air, gesturing forfeit. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear!" he exclaimed.

"Well, watch it," the Quarren said coldly. "You must be the new guy. We've heard of you"

"Oh, really, well…" Truz was curtailed.

"What are you wearing, washing rags? Ugh, kid, you're not going to make it anywhere in those. I'll lend you one set of clothes, but don't think it makes us friends. If the day comes where the price is on you, I won't hesitate to blast your green behind into the outer rim. I don't joke around!"

"Well, thank you," Truz replied, "I appreciate your help, but you don't have to give me clothes. I think I'll be…" he was stopped again.

"This isn't Rodia, kid! Look, don't make all of look bad by running around in a washcloth! Just here, come with me"

The Quarren returned his blaster into its holster on his waist, and went to the door of the adjacent apartment and put in his keycard. Truz finally was able to calm down a moment and recollect. He looked at the Quarren, with a grey suit and jacket, worn by age and fit for a smuggler. His face was characterized by the four tentacles around his mouth. His sandy skin color was complemented by the deep, azure color of his sapphire eyes. His head was nearly triangular, its sides curling like gills. All together, his face appeared like a squid.

As the door opened, the Quarren didn't even glance at Truz, simply looking into his apartment. Truz asked, under his breath almost, "Who are you?"

"I am your new neighbor, and the name's Vecker. Vecker Sllus, to be exact. Down in 901 is a Zabrak pilot named Sayla Aador. Next over is me, then you, then in 904 is a Bith droid programmer gone AWOL named Tisilan Cor'chil. He lives with some Verpine guy who never seems to leave their place, I don't know his name. Next over is a Kreevaki old geezer named Visto, and next to him in 906 is an Ithorian beast tamer. He makes a mess of the place. Before you, there was this Xexto bounty hunter in your spot, but he got fried on a kill job going after some Empire regional thug. It happens, we'll all go at the hands of those empire sleezebags in a matter of time."

Vecker stepped into his apartment, which seemed as grimy as Truz' except it had a bed and a plastisteel case at the end of the bed, which Vecker opened, to pull out a blue jacket and black clothes, which he tossed at Truz. "There you have it. Consider it a gift, but remember, this doesn't mean we're friends, or brthers, or anything like that. I'm just giving you a start because I don't need anymore blaster fire in the hallway, that's all"

"Understood," said Truz. He thought of Vecker as a friend anyways. Truz had just noticed, beyond Vecker's case, was a pile of blaster rifles.

They both stepped out, and Vecker proceeded into the elevator and down the building. Truz began to look around at the doors of the ninth floor, and thinking up vivid illustrations about what the people inside might look like. He failed to realize he was in a Coruscant slum, and not the central hub, where the humans were.


	4. Chapter 4

After a moment of thought, a glance into imagination, Truz shook his head as if here awakening from falling asleep during a battle. Or at least his nervousness made him feel that way. It wasn't much of a battle; he was simply standing in an empty circular hallway. But in his mind, Truz had a sense of needless urgency about him since he arrived on Coruscant. No, perhaps since he was born.

He decided he would go out and venture a bit. He might as well, he had new clothes and it was somewhat of an occasion. So he stepped back into his room, dropped his sack and changed into the clothes that Vecker had given him. They fit strangely well, except for the jacket, which had sleeves that were a bit too short for him.

He stepped back out, into the elevator and down into the lobby. He passed by Pilt, the attendant from before, who seemed to be still cleaning the exact same spot on the floor. Truz said "Goodbye" on his way out. Pilt nodded.

Stepping back into the alleyway, he was still a bit afraid to go back into the busy street ahead. He told himself not to venture too far on his first night. He made it to the corner, and then saw a fading neon sign, vertically stating "Cheap Drinks: 2 for 5 Credits. Ladies drink free." Truz had no desire to drink, whether the beverage was cheap or not, nor did he want to watch ladies drink free beverages. He went inside anyways.

His reasoning was that if he were to ever become a real bounty hunter or mercenary, he would have to be familiar with bars and such. He couldn't back out now. He had to be tough, and drink hard things, to kick-start his reputation. Then perhaps someone would hire him.

The bar was packed, as busy as the street outside. The room was filled with beings from across the galaxy, every sector Truz could think of, and then some. The odor of all the different pheromones made the air almost soupy, making one noxious aroma of the various beings and their various, bubbling, mucky drinks. Tables dominated most of the room, with many patrons walking around, serving drinks, and chatting between them. All the way to one side, was a long bar along a wall. At the end of it was an empty stool, and Truz approached it.

Sitting down, he noticed a Gand sitting on the adjacent stool. As Truz watched the bartender shuffle behind the counter, he waited for the right moment to ask for a drink. Before that moment came, the Gand turned to him, and spouted "You're that punk kid who bumped into me when I was on a job, aren't you!"

Truz was so frightened, he hopped off of the stool and put his arms up in forfeit, yet again, "It was an accident, I really am sorry"

"You're lucky it didn't cost me the job. I still blasted the guy I was after, and got my two thousand credits. So, sit down kid, I've got the money today. I'll spot you a drink"

Truz was confused by the strange hospitality. He began to think he might be poisoned, or knifed, or blasted under the table. But then again, what did he have to lose? He had something to gain, which was a free beverage to fill him up.

He sat back down, with a lax air about him for once. He was still twitching on the inside. The Gand struck up a conversation:

"So, I'm Ussar, the findsman. Heard of me?"

"No I am afraid I haven't."

"Really? How long have you been in this area?"

"Three hours."

"Oh, well that explains it. Basically, I'm a Gand Findsman. We're very famous for our tracking abilities."

"Oh, is that so…"

Ussar looked directly into Truz' eyes. It was almost hypnotic. His large, silvery black faceted eyes sat in his round head, which sported a thick, brown exoskeleton. His stature was much shorter than Truz', and in his mouth he had a Gand respirator. The circular machine covered his mouth, and it had tubes that lead down into a cylindrical canister that was hanging near his long, thin tendrils. He was wearing a ruffled, tan colored robe that matched his skin color with all sorts of markings written over it in fading color.

"Kid, you're so green, I feel like I'd be killing you if I didn't give you a hand. Just look, I'm heading out. If you want to make some quick credits by giving me a small hand of assistance on my next job, meet me down by the apartment lobby tomorrow morning. Real quick, it'll get you 100 credits and food in your snout"

"Yeah, sure! No problem, I'll be there. Whatever you need"

"You lucked out, kid. I usually work alone, and I usually don't help people out. I'm expecting you to be there"

Ussar left the building promptly. Truz was excited about working with Ussar. He didn't think he would be working with a real bounty hunter so soon. He began daydreaming of the two of them blasting officers and grabbing loot, only to end the day in a cantina, throwing credits at poor saps who just got off of their shuttle from Rodia, or Mon Calamari, or whatever. He was hoping everyone would stop calling him kid by then.

As Truz daydreamed, his face sank somewhat and he stared into the black sheen of the counter. He looked at his reflection, which was marred by a brown smudge that covered the reflection's left eye. He started to move his head a bit from side to side to see his full reflection, however he could never get it right. In time he ordered a drink, which was whatever the bartender suggested. He spent time thinking. Maybe he should just take the credits he would get tomorrow from Ussar and go back home. It would be a shameful return, but a safe one and maybe he could live on the other side of the planet, and not worry about his family. But he had come so far. He was confused.

A few minutes later, a female Zabrak came and sat in the stool at the bar next to Truz, where Ussar was sitting. She was amazing. Her face was beautiful, the Zabrak tattoos on it were soft, only a few shades from her skin tone, unlike the dark bold tattoos most Zabraks had. Directly under her eyes, the tattoos formed downward spikes, magnifying the power of her emerald eyes. Iridonian, her horns were in a circle like a crest atop her scalp. She was slender, and tall, almost as tall as Truz. She wore a green tank top, and military leggings that weren't uncommon for mercenaries, as they looked as if they were thick civilian pants. Her pilot's helmet had patterns upon it that seemed to connect to the ones on her face. The helmet had styled holes to fit her horns, and its dark amber color almost faded into the background of the cantina. Truz had never seen anything like her.

She sat down without even looking at Truz, and ordered a "Corellian Twister." Truz was amazed by how calmly she walked into a place where nearly everyone was armed, took a seat, and ordered a drink without awkward twitching. She began looking at the counter as Truz was before, until she noticed him glancing at her. "Hey, aren't you the new Rodian guy at the apartments down there?"

"Yes, I think." This moment competed with being held at blasterpoint for the most nervous moment since coming to Coruscant.

She held out her hand. "Sayla Aador. I'm on your floor." She let the edge of her mouth curl into half of a grin as she waited for Truz to stretch out his hand. He eventually did, with great apprehension. Her handhake was firm for a woman. She continued "So welcome to Coruscant. Get used to the oppression, it's the first thing you learn being nonhuman here."

"Oppression? You mean the crime lords?"

"No, well, not so much. I am talking about the Empire. To them, we're all a bunch of vermin. They couldn't care if we all died."

Sayla explained to Truz how the Empire Xenobiologists dubbed all of them "not human-like" and thus lesser beings. She explained how slowly, the Empire was enslaving countless races around the galaxy, and how the Zabrak colonies were waging a military resistance, and that she was a reconnaissance person sending secret Intel back to her Zabrak comrades. She spoke of a glorious revolution, where the humans would be forced to treat everyone as equals. The only way to get there, she said, started with fighting back and overthrowing the Empire in all the colonies, and in Coruscant itself. Truz would interrupt her occasionally to state how much he loathes humans, or to point out how smart she was.

After nearly an hour of talking, two stormtroopers entered through the front gate, and one said through his helmet "Alright, everyone stays where they are and takes out proper identification."

Sayla strapped the hanging strap on her helmet around her chin, and wished Truz farewell as she ran out the back from a door behind the bar counter. Sayla did this so swiftly, that only one stormtrooper was able to see what appeared like a silhouette going through the door.

"What was that?" the trooper pointed his rifle at the bartender.

"Oh, just my waiter droid going into the back, as to not confuse you patrol officers"

After checking the back only to find a decommissioned waiter druid, the Stormtroopers lost interest, checked a few random patrons and left. Truz left soon afterwards.

Truz was more tired now than ever before. He headed up to his floor, hitting the white knob jabbed in the elevator. He opened the door to his empty room, only to find a sleeping body on the ground.

"What the heck!" Truz shouted at the sight.


	5. Chapter 5

The figure on the floor was the most awkward being Truz had ever seen. He was covered in layers of black robes, one after another, and had a black cloak with a black hood over all of it. His dark, grayish snout protruded from his face down onto his chest, and over his eyes he wore thick goggles. On the rubbery skin of his scalp, sharp hairs stood out like grass. He was making snoring wheezes through his proboscis.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Truz was growing tired of Coruscant already, and needed no more drama before his chance to rest. There was nothing he would do about it now, though.

Waking, the black robed figure shook his head with a sequence of jerks of the neck. Then, when he focused his goggle-covered eyes forward, he realized he had been found out. He planted his hands urgently on the ground and propelled himself to his feet. Standing, he put his arms up, "Look, I thought the guy who lived here was dead," he protested. His voice was high pitched and nasal, as he spoke through his large snout.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? I live here…" Truz was confused. He didn't realize if he had encountered a murderer or a homeless person. He put his hand over his blaster, with a motive to intimidate more than to defend.

The figure was gesturing both timidness and slyness in his posture and hand motions. He said, "Look, I have no place to go. I was hiding out in here since the room became vacant. I knew somebody would eventually come, and you did, but I don't have enough time tonight to find a new room. I'm tired and hungry, and you look tired too. How about we just sleep this night in here, and I'll leave you be tomorrow."

Truz almost agreed, but then caught himself. In his mind his voice chimed, "No bounty hunter helps those in need!" He pulled out his blaster, and comfortably pointed it at waist level towards the figure. "Get out, or I will fry you! I'm not a charity!"

"Pal, look, everybody has blasters. You fry me, then the next guy comes in, before you know it the alley downstairs has bodies laying around and stormtroopers are walking over them. You can avoid a big ordeal by just letting me sleep in the corner tonight, and before you wake up I'll be gone and you won't see me again. I'm not asking for your credits, or your help. Just a little space to sleep, alright? I didn't mean anything by coming in here."

Truz was tired and didn't want to argue, so he agreed. "Good idea," the person said, and walked over to the opposite corner from Truz'. Truz laid down against the wall, as if sitting up, and faced the corner so that he could try to sleep, but fear from the day's occurrences kept him up. Meanwhile, the man in the other corner was already halfway asleep.

"Who are you?" Truz asked under his breath, testing if the person was awake. He got an answer in a strange, tired wheezy voice, "I'm Shivron. A Kubaz from Kubindi. Came here as an art smuggler; but it took one run-in with the bucketheads to put my entire business down. Now I scavenge vacant apartments and alleys to survive. It's what this planet does to you, I swear. Look, thanks for the night. I appreciate it. Its not like I'm human and can go get sympathy from the government offices. This is about the best stuff that happens to me: indoor sleeping."

Truz began looking at Shivron from the corner of his eye, and thinking about what Sayla had told him, about the state of non-humans on Coruscant, about the revolts on Iridonia, about the Empire. He began to think of what they would do to him. He never thought he had anything that could be taken, until he saw Shuzz. Now he knew what could happen if he played his Sabacc cards wrongly.

Truz eventually woke up. Shivron was gone, as he had promised. Truz hoped he would see him again. The night was a strange encounter.


	6. Chapter 6

So now it was time to be downstairs. The last twenty-four hours had been strange, dangerous, and extremely tiring. Truz had too much whizzing around in his mind to keep any one thought. It was all so new, and it encroached on his life like an invasion. Coruscant refused to leave him alone. That is the way it was for everyone, and the way it would always be.

Leaving his damp, cubic apartment, Truz entered the elevator. Simultaneously entering, his neighbor Vecker greeted him: "Morning. Working?"

"Yeah, I got a job. Don't know what it is though…."

"Good for you, kid. I bet it won't be much, but its something. Not bad for a first day"

"I'm not working alone, though. I'm being paid by the guy with the job. His name is Ussar."

"You're working with Ussar?" Vecker yelled in disbelief. "He doesn't work with anyone, much less kids on their first day here!"

"Well, he offered me 100 credits to assist him. I'm meeting him downstairs."

"You lucked out. Try not to screw it up for him, he's big time."

The elevator doors shifted open, and there was Ussar, his stocky body clad in brown robes, leaning against the lobby wall. Pilt was still cleaning the floor, and he seemed to be in the same spot as the night before. Truz wondered, "Surely he couldn't have been there all night."

Vecker left with haste, nodding to Ussar as he left. Truz could not determine whether his fleet of foot was caused by intimidation or avoidance. Once Vecker had left the main door, Ussar gestured with a nod. "Ready?"

"I guess. You never told me what we are doing." Truz replied.

"I'll explain on the way, we don't have much time."

Ussar walked out the door with determination, his stubby legs marching forth with purpose. They passed the bar where they met, and as Ussar was marching Truz walked with sporadic spurts of running to keep up. As they passed through crows on the main streets, Truz began to find it difficult to keep his eyes on the back of Ussar's short body. Each moment of nervousness, trying to track Ussar, was worse and worse. Eventually, the bodies thinned out and they came to a clearing. Another short alley, like the one Truz lived on, except the end of this one was a drop. A speeder was sitting atop a small landing platform at the end. The gray speeder had the imperial insignia upon its side. Ussar began walking towards it.

"What are you doing? Aren't they in there?" Truz asked in a panic.

"On the way to your place a slipped a timed gas device in there. They choked on it about 2 minutes ago. It's cleared out"

Something struck Truz in his spine. He is working with a man who indirectly killed a crew of stormtroopers in seconds. He really was getting into crime. It was surreal, this realization of that dream he always had.

They boarded the enclosed, blockish vessel from an open hatch. Ussar quickly hopped into the pilot's seat, and Truz sat beside him. As Ussar took the speeder up off the platform, Truz looked into the main shaft of the shuttle only to see a mound of limp stormtrooper bodies laying on top of each other.

"Wow….that's very unnerving, I mean, on my first day."

"Get used to it. That stuff's easy, later today you might see some action yourself."

Deep within his thin, flat snout, Truz gulped.

"So here's your quick briefing," Ussar began to explain while concentrating on maneuvering the shuttle so that it goes unnoticed. He didn't turn to see Truz, but Truz still concentrated greatly on Ussar's words. "We will go into this facility, a diplomatic office, if you will. Our target is this Duros diplomat that was the first kissing the emperor's feet back after the reformation. His people scraped together the money for petty vengeance. I'm their tool, and you're my markerlight."

"Markerlight?"

"That's right, kid. You're gonna line up my assassination shot. He's got the whole place manned by armored, human guards. A force the two of us can't take head on. You're going into a vent, lighting the guys head while I get to him to take the shot"

"Why do you need the markerlight?"

"My vision isn't so great, and I imagine I'll be busy with his super-armored guards. I'm not afraid to engage them, but making sure I get them in groups and not all at once will take a deal of concentration"

"I see…"

This was all becoming very scary to Truz. He was so worried he didn't notice how nervous Ussar was, hoping the Empire wouldn't come onto the shuttle's comm. unit.

After fifteen minutes of cautious flight, they approached another small, round platform. Ussar began bringing down the shuttle.

"Here we are," he said in relief, as he tossed a blaster rifle into Truz's lap.


	7. Chapter 7

Truz and Ussar stepped out of the ship and onto the hangar, stepping slowly as if waiting for something to happen. The tall, tower-like building in front of them looked nothing like Truz' part of Coruscant. They were in the Coco section: a bustling area filled with clubs and high-end living quarters. The building peaked into the sky like a needle, and its tall, thin gates stood ahead in a shining silver sheen. Ussar slowly turned his head to Truz.

"Okay, here's the drill. There should be two cameras in the first room. We're going to hide next to that door, I'm going to hit the open button, and blast the two of them before they pick us up. Security should be on their way in about a minute later, so I will go through the corridors to this chump's office. You are going into a ventilation shaft from the fist room, and making your way into the diplomat's office, hopefully before I do. Then, when I get there, you line up the shot and we head out the way we came in. Should be no more than two minutes."

They stepped forward, aligning their backs with the wall. Cautiously, Ussar slapped a panel near the door and with a swift spin stepped in front of the hallway, firing off two blaster shots into the corners of the room's roof, and blowing up to cameras. A moment later, he fired a third round into the chrome 3PO unit standing behind the front desk, causing it fall to the floor with a loud clank.

Truz stepped next to Ussar, when they both heard large thuds. The guards were coming. "Get into the vent, I'll handle this!" Ussar said while pointing at square ventilation entrance in the corner of the wall.

With a clumsy fall, Truz leapt at the grated ventilation panel, slamming his knees on the steel floor. He squirmed on the ground to it, removing the entrance panel and crawling inside. Seconds later, he heard the massive guards' armor pounding against the floor, and blaster fire being exchanged between Ussar and the guards.

Truz began frantically shifting his elbows, propelling himself forward through the vent. His knees were still sore from his unnecessary dive into the ground. As he went through the vent, he shifted his head from side to side, looking through the grating into each room. He then saw some of the guards.

They were nothing like a stormtrooper. In huge, bulking metallic blue powered armor, these beastlike figures stood over seven feet tall. The only proof that humans were inside these powered suits was the cavity for the head, revealing a human face covered from the nose down by a mask. The arms of the suit were repeating blasters or flamethrowers, and a huge energy pack on the pack powered the entire suit. When they ran, the stomping of their weighty suits made severely loud noises.

Truz was shaking looking at them. He wanted to move down the shaft, to minimize his chance of being seen, but he couldn't help himself from staring at the pair of guards in one of the rooms in fright. He watched as they shuffled about on high alert, and hoped he would not be detected.

The two guards used hand signals to communicate. Their furrowed brows indicated that they were both listening for disturbances. They walked in a circle around a table in the room. Truz knew he had to continue down the shaft to find the diplomat's room, but he was fixated on the guards. How menacing their armor looked, how powerful their weapons were. He wondered how Ussar manages to combat them with such confidence.

Suddenly, there was blaster fire. With a jerk, the guards shifted their torso's clumsily to face the door, their blocky armor barely moving. One opened the door, and the two stepped into the hallway. They began frantically giving each other hand signals, their eyes wide in astonishment. It was as if they were seeing an army. Truz was impressed by Ussar's intimidation.

Strangely, the two guards peddled back. Pouring in came three squads of stormtroopers, rapidly firing into the armor of the hoards as they let off blasts of scattering laser and torching flames from their arms. Team after team of stormtroopers were blasted near the doorway, others torched until their armor was black. The guards seemed unstoppable, but the troops showed no sign of stopping, and slowly but surely the blaster fire and grenades dragged the guards down, each crashing into the ground.

What was going on? Ussar mentioned nothing about Imperial troops attacking. Truz had no idea what to do. He just continued shifting down the ventilator shaft, looking for Ussar. How was he going to get out of this alive?

Now, similarly to the previous guards, stormtroopers were surveying each room, searching plastisteel containers and dragging bodies. Truz was still amazed by the sheer amount of carnage on the part of both sides, and this lead him to be overcome with fear of his own death. He reached the end of the ventilator shaft, his gangly body awkwardly crammed inside the metal casing. He then looked through the last grated panel into an ornately decorated office with long, curving desk. He assumed this was the diplomat's room.

Much to his dismay, the room was empty. No Duros diplomat, no guards, not even Ussar was there. Now he was really becoming nervous. He tried to move back down the shaft, perhaps finding a means of escape, but as he tried to turn he realized his jacket was caught in the top grating of the shaft. He was now not only in great peril, but also immobile.

He tried releasing himself for minutes to no avail. Truz' face had become scrunched in horror. What would they do when they found him? He kept pulling, but nothing would work. He did not even know which direction to go in. he kept the diplomat's room in his peripheral vision, hoping that the stormtroopers wouldn't enter and see him through the grated panels. Suddenly, with a quick jerk, the grater panel lifted off and Truz shrieked in fear as he help up his arms, protecting his face.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a quick step Ussar moved in front of the chamber and quickly squatted down to face Truz. Truz tried to explain, "I was trying to find you, but I couldn't, and…"

"We haven't time. We need to hide until one of my operatives get here. He should be here in a few minutes." Ussar replied.

Ussar grabbed Truz out with a strong tug, ripping Truz' jacket as he was pulled out of the shaft. He continued grabbing Truz' arm as they ran together from the Diplomat's room into a hallway. Blaster fire and flamethrower sounds followed by screams could be heard from down the corridor, as Ussar lead Truz into a sealed doorway. A data terminal stood next to the door, and Ussar began frantically hitting buttons on the terminal. After his rapid pushing of buttons, the door opened, letting out the sound of sealed oxygen as it unhinged. Inside was a ladder, leading up to the next floor. Ussar began to climb without giving Truz any warning.

"Where are you going?" Truz asked from the bottom of the ladder.

"Up to the second tier landing pad. And you're coming, too. This is our escape, this whole thing is a mess and we can't afford to stay to clean it up." After a moment of thought, staring up the ladder, Truz began to climb it as well.

As they reached the outdoor platform on the second tier of the building, a bulky, nearly cubic cargo freighter was docking onto the platform. The ship was nothing more than engines, a huge cargo hull, and a one-man cockpit with a tiny Polis Massan sitting inside. The pilot had a helmet on, and his emotionless, small beady eyes made him seem childlike.

The side panel opened, revealing a large empty cargo hold, and Ussar ran inside. Truz followed closely. Ussar hit a button on the side of the cargo bay opening the communicator to the cockpit. With relief, he said into the speaker, "right on time," as the hold closed and the freighter took off.

Ussar now turned to Truz. "It was a mess. We're lucky we got out."

"What happened?" asked Truz.

"There are two possibilities. One is that we, and the diplomat, were set up by our clients who double crossed us to get Empire favor for ratting out both us and this guy. The second is that the Empire tracked us there, and for some reason are looking for you or me."

"But why would they want us?" Truz questioned with interest.

"Who knows, but this whole thing is very concerning." He opened the communicator again, "Jigri, take us back to the docking bay."

"I suppose we won't get our pay?" Truz asked, with disappointment.

"No, we won't. But that should be the least of your worries.


End file.
